


May the Best Man Win

by kiwisaurus121



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inspired by Made of Honor (2008), M/M, Minor Gwaine/Percival (Merlin) - Freeform, Temporary Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwisaurus121/pseuds/kiwisaurus121
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are best friends, and it's great. Merlin and Arthur are best friends and Arthur can't conceive of them being anything else... until Merlin asks him to be his Best Man, and Arthur thinks maybe he wants to be something else instead.(Listen, sometimes in life you just gotta embrace you're going to write a fic for a show that ended over 5 years ago based on a movie from over 10 years ago)





	1. The Nightmare Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Some of this has been edited to death (I did, in fact, start it December of 2017), some of it was written literally an hour ago because I want to actually produce more content this year and this was as good a place to start as any. But please do let me know if you spot any typos/sentences that don't make sense!
> 
> Many thanks to the many friends who supported me and encouraged me throughout this. To the best self-indulgent-AU partner out there, to the friends who came over and gave me encouraging suggestions I promptly ignored (I'm very sorry- you found me a very good whiskey, but then the pun in Ghost Quartet ("Lagavulin, you lovely lady of the loch") was too much for me to resist), to you-know-who-you-are-who-encouraged-me-to-write-this-without-knowing-anything-about-it, to the complete stranger on the internet who made ascii art of swords that I stole to put as paragraph breaks, and to you, for reading this!
> 
> In an ideal world, this fic would be much more fleshed out, written at a much more rapid pace, Percival would have a role besides giving people noogies (watching Black Sails is making me very fond of him and yet...), and all of the elaborate backstory I have daydreamed up would magically be evident. But this is the world we live in, and I hope you enjoy! It may take me another 15 years to finish, but perhaps you can join me in hoping not.

By most measures, Arthur Brandon Pendragon had everything he could want in life. He was rich in many things: money, friendships, and women eager to sleep with him. What he most wanted in the world, however, was being summarily denied to him.

“No,” Merlin Emrys, who until this moment he'd thought of as being his best friend, says, “I will not attend your father's wedding with you. Why don't you take one of your hookups?”

Arthur sighs, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders, “You know that's against the rules, _Mer_ lin.”

“What, scared they'll get _ideas_ about you committing?”

“Scared they'll end up his next wife again,” they both share a shudder at the memory of Sophia, “I already had to revoke the rule about ‘family functions’ since you're never willing to attend Morgana’s parties with me.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “I get my own invites to those, dumbass, now what do you think of this?” He holds an old bowtie up to his neck, quirking his lips into a smile. Merlin already fits so well into this oddball antique shop they're in, with his leather purse (“ _Satchel_ , Arthur, and don't make me tattle to Morgana that you're using female coded language as an insult again,”) and scarves, and general inability to fit into Arthur's otherwise very normal life. It's part of what makes forcing Merlin into suits and fussy functions so entertaining.

“Very stunning,” Arthur says, “it brings out your eyes, but… unless you're going to a wedding soon, wearing it will just make you look even _more_ like an insufferable hipster.”

“You're impossible,” Merlin pronounces, “im-poss-ible. But I suppose I'll go to your father's wedding with you, since there's little danger he'll try to marry me next.”

Arthur snorts, and bullies Merlin into letting him buy the bowtie. It is for _his_ father's function after all, not _Merlin's_.

* * *

Five years ago, if you'd told Arthur that he'd end up here, of all places, he would have laughed in your face, before asking what _you_ were doing talking to _him_. It would have been a valid question, in some ways. Not many people really talked to Arthur those days, unless they were hitting on him. There were people he could have talked to, probably, he had teammates and a very annoying sister, but it was his last year of college and he'd decided to make the most of it.

Take Halloween, for instance. Halloween was a _testimony_ to the university experience. Halloween, Arthur was wearing a grey plastic breastplate, red and gold bootyshorts, and a pound shop crown. He was more than a little drunk, and if anyone had asked, Excalibur was definitely his dick.

He looked around at his fellow scantily clad peers, and thought how lucky they all were to be there, instead of the real world, before taking another swig of _Lagavulin_ and forgetting all about it again. He clumsily pulled up the text from that cute girl at the coffee shop, double checking it before making his way across campus to her apartment.

Arthur rapped on the door, before realizing it was unlocked. She'd been expecting him, then. Good. He slipped inside, locking it behind him (he _is_ a gentleman), before blinking at the two doors he'd become presented with. Making a guess, he cracked open the one on the right, and spotted dark curly hair peeking out from under the blankets. Bingo.

“ _Guinevere_ ,” he whispered, giggling at his own joke, “ _Guinevere we must-_ " he struggled with the plastic straps on his too small breast plate, before yanking the whole thing over his head. It knocked his crown off, but that was just as well, “ _Guinevere we must hurry before, before uh that other guy comes_!” he giggled again then, before crawling onto the bed.

He was immediately ejected by an elbow in his face, “OW! Fuck! What was that??”

“You fucking crawled into my bed!” he looked up to see a very pale boy emerge from the covers, “who does that?”

“You're not… Guinevere,” Arthur replied weakly, through the hand still clutched to his face.

The boy glared at him, “Oh for God’s sake,” he glanced at the crown next to Arthur on the ground, “King Arthur and Guinevere? Really? Of fucking course this happens to me.”

“I was,” Arthur winced as he brushed his nose, “I got a text from a girl? From the coffee shop? She said this was her apartment.”

The boy, who was very clearly not the girl from the coffee shop, let out a deep breath, “Well, friend, I'm not her.”

Arthur furrowed his brow, “Do I know you?”

“I doubt it,” the boy said, finally climbing out of his bed, “or you'd probably be laughing at me.”

“But you called me friend.”

The boy yanked his door open, “My mistake. Now get out.”

Arthur looked up the long legs and torso in front of him and put on his most charming smile, “I don't know, isn't college all about experimenting? Maybe you can be my queen tonight.”

The boy's eyes narrowed, but his reply was cut off by someone banging on the front door. He turned upon his heel and went to answer it, leaving Arthur to gather up the remains of both his dignity and his costume, and scramble after him.

The tiny suite suddenly contained not just his new… acquaintance, but also a familiar looking brown girl, embracing him and crying, “Merlin I don't know what happened! I just stepped out to say hi and when I came back the door was locked! Thank God you saved me, Merlin, what would I do wi-"

“Your name is _Merlin_ ,” interjected Arthur, “of fucking course it is… are you sure you don't want to make some _magic_?”

He was suddenly confronted by two faces staring at him.

“ _Oh_!” said the girl, “it's you! From the coffee shop!”

The- Merlin put his hand over his eyes, “Gwen, please tell me you didn't invite this clotpole over to our apartment.”

Gwen beamed up at him, “Maaaaybe?”

“Gwen!” Arthur exclaimed, “ _Guinevere!_ ” he grinned remembering how brilliant his costume is, “I'm Arthur… King Arthur, get it?”

She giggled, reassuring Arthur that at least _someone_ had a sense of humor.

Merlin, on the other hand, just sighed, before steering Gwen into a chair and turning back towards Arthur, “Gwen isn't short for Guinevere, you prat, it's just Gwen. Now get out of my apartment so I can take care of my friend.” He swung the door back open, and glared. Glancing at Gwen, Arthur saw he was out of allies, and shoulders stooping, shuffled out.

“Oh!” Merlin said, seeming to remember something before he slammed the door shut, “and the name of ‘the other guy’ was Lancelot… _friend_.”

And so, Arthur meets his best friend, who turns out to be the kind of generous soul who will indeed go with you to your father's 5th wedding, even if you really don't deserve it.

* * *

Uther’s wedding, of course, is only bearable because throughout the ceremony Merlin keeps up a quiet commentary explaining how Catrina is actually a troll in disguise. Morgana, seated on Merlin's other side, claims that this is quite rude and even gold diggers are human beings worthy of respect, particularly for the difficult task of spending time with Uther. However, Arthur knows her tears during the ceremony were actually from holding in laughter at Merlin's story, so he doesn't take the criticism that seriously.

The reception is turning out to be less entertaining, however, as Merlin refuses to dance.

“Come on!” Arthur puts his baby blues to the best use he can think of, “Get out there and get your groove on!”

“Absolutely not,” Merlin adjusts his bowtie, “Firstly, because ‘get your groove on’ makes you sound like an 80 year old grandpa, and secondly because even if I confiscate your phone you will _still_ somehow acquire video of it and then pass it around for everyone to laugh at.”

Arthur bites down a smile at the memory of his current contact picture for Merlin, mid-Macarena with limbs everywhere, “Not even a slow dance?”

Merlin snorts, “With whom? The only other person I recognize here is Der and I can't dance with him without coming dangerously close to violating the pact Gwen and I made about Not Dating Each Other’s Romantic Interests. You'd think Mr. Rules over here would respect that,” he pokes at Arthur.

“Well,” Arthur blinks, “dance with me then."

Merlin laughs, until Arthur stands up and offers him his hand.

“Come on,” Arthur says, “We don’t want everyone thinking that I don’t even know how to be a proper date at my own father's wedding.”

“Oh,” Merlin hesitates a moment longer before slowly grinning up at Arthur and taking his hand, following him onto the dance floor. Morgana smirks at them from across the room, as hands get situated on hips and shoulders, over only _slightly_ nervous laughter.

Suddenly, Arthur's grip tightens on Merlin's waist, and he pulls him in tighter, “Oh shit,” he whispers in Merlin's ear, “Sophia's here. Hide me!”

Merlin moves his hand to pat Arthur's back, “There there. Do you want to hide your face in my shoulder, oh brave knight?”

Arthur digs his fingers into Merlin’s side, even as he puts his head down, “Shut up, _Mer_ lin. I know you're also scared of her. Besides, it's not _my_ fault all my relationships end so badly.”

“Well,” Merlin tries to leverage an elbow to knock Arthur's fingers away, “you are the common thread in all your failed romances. Maybe your rules aren't as effective as you always claim. Maybe you'd find love if you would just. loosen. up!” he finishes, just as he gets Arthur's grip free from his stomach.

Arthur lifts up his head, quickly scanning the room to see if Sophia is still in sight. “Maybe,” he concedes, “but why would I need to? I don’t need a girlfriend to have a meaningful connection.”

Merlin is silent for a long moment, before breaking eye contact, glancing over Arthur’s shoulder, “Hey! Is Morgana recording this for you? Arthur!”

Arthur throws his head back to laugh, and later swears up and down that even being caught by Sophia is worth it, just for the video of Merlin shuffling in place, out of beat to the live orchestra performance.

* * *

The next morning finds Arthur more hungover than he would like to be, as after the wedding party had ended he had also done some more drinking with Morgana, who kept hounding him about his dance with Merlin, for whatever reason. But the next morning is also a Sunday, and so he drags himself out of bed and to whatever hipster cafe has been picked for brunch that week.

Merlin, of course, has already found them a table, and is sipping at his disgusting herbal tea, with a couple pastries in front of him.

“Scones, Merlin, really?” Arthur questions, already breaking off part of nearest one.

“I thought you might like something more solid than a croissant, given that you went off with Morgana last night. How late were you out anyway?”

“Not too late,” Arthur dodges the question, “after all, I wouldn’t want to miss our Sunday brunch, it’s a rule.”

“Ah,” Merlin looks weirdly uncomfortable, but doesn’t say anything else before Arthur goes to order his coffee.

The reason for his discomfort doesn’t reveal itself until they’re walking along the river.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur smiles as blandly as he can, suddenly realizing how long it’s been since he felt a need to put up barriers around Merlin, “Can you repeat that?”

“Um,” Merlin tugs at his scarf, “I’m headed to France tomorrow for a conservation project, and will be gone for two months, so I won’t be able to have brunch with you. But!” he glances over at Arthur, “We can still chat on the phone at this time? It’s not like I’m even going that far, just across the channel.”

Arthur doesn’t look at him, “And you couldn’t tell me before now?”

“I only found out like a week ago, and I didn’t want to distract you from the wedding!” Merlin sounds like he’s upset. Good.

Arthur doesn’t look to check, “I see.”

“Arthur,” Merlin takes a deep breath, “It’s just two months. I know it’s late notice, and I’m sorry, but it won’t be that long, and we have cell phones. Arthur,” he waits until Arthur finally looks at him, “It’s not that big a deal, I promise.”

Arthur counts to 10 in his head, shoves his emotions down to where he can’t feel them, and then grins, “Oi, _Mer_ lin, it’s certainly a big deal, in fact,” he makes to climb on the bridge railing, “I’m not sure how I can survive your absence! So best to just end it now, right?”

Merlin laughs as he grabs at Arthur, and tugs him back to the trail, “Be serious!”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur whines, even as he leans into his arms, “Of course I’m being serious!”

“Yes, well,” Merlin’s stance is finally less rigid, even as he pulls away, apparently trusting Arthur to not make another dive for it, “I’ll just find a cafe in France, and we’ll talk at this time anyway. Deal?”

“Deal,” Arthur focuses on the lingering warmth from Merlin’s hands rather than his unease, “now tell me about this project, is it a good opportunity?”

“Oh!” Merlin’s face blooms into a smile, “Yes, the museum usually saves it for their more senior staff, but someone got sick, so…” and Arthur keeps his focus on the grin on his friend’s face, as he continues to talk about how lucky he is to be able to work on this project.

* * *

The first Sunday is both better and worse than expected. Arthur drinks a coffee at his kitchen table, as Merlin enthuses in his ear about all of the pieces which he wouldn’t have access to if not for this trip, and thinks that he can probably manage to deal with this break in his routine, for a couple months anyway.

And then, the next Wednesday he gets an email from Merlin, saying that he dropped his phone in a pail of paint, and that the nearest electronics store is a couple hours away, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to replace it. Arthur ignores the piece of his brain yelling that _that’s not how his life works_ , and replies telling Merlin to not worry about it, they’ll talk when he has time, and to let him know if he can do anything.

For the rest of the two months, he only hears from Merlin sporadically, through email. He spends Sunday mornings on Morgana’s couch, complaining, as she tries to point out that he could just go visit Merlin, it’s only a few hours train trip, plus taking a coach to where he’s staying in the middle of nowhere... But he’s busy, and Merlin’s busy, and he said he was fine with it, so he will be. Merlin checks in often enough that he’s not worried about his health, though his sanity is another story, given the cryptic nature of the emails.

But it’s fine! Merlin will be back soon, after all, and then things can go back to normal, with the exception that Arthur refuses to let them be separated for such a long period ever again. Morgana gives him a look when he says so, but Morgana’s always giving him looks, so he ignores her. He’s not _unhealthily codependent_ , because he’s currently proving himself perfectly capable of surviving without Merlin. He plays football with the lads on Thursday evenings, and his work productivity is up, and shouldn’t Morgana be excited to be spending time with her brother? Who is, in fact, an excellent brother, and coping just fine without Merlin, and regardless he’s coming back soon, so Morgana can shove it.

* * *

Arthur is cooling down from a particularly vigorous Thursday evening match when Gwaine plops down next to him.

“Damn,” Gwaine sighs, “I’m not sure how many more pummelings we can take. When’s Merlin getting back again?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s playing _that_ much more aggressively, it’s just that he’s had more time to work out, but still he’s relieved to say, “This weekend.”

“That’ll be a relief. And then you’re going to confess your undying love to him and that he can never leave again?” Gwaine laughs.

A complete stillness comes over Arthur. Some of his mates from uni had made jokes like that, since Merlin is gay, but he’d shut them up. He didn’t think he’d have to go through that again, but… “Don’t be a dick, Gwaine.”

“What?” Gwaine laughs again, “I’ve missed having him around too, you’re not the only one who’s friends with him.”

“Then why are you saying shit like that?”

“Calm down, Princess,” Gwaine shoots him a look that’s actually close to concerned, so Arthur decides that fists might not be necessary.

Arthur takes a deep breath in to calm himself, “Homophobia isn’t a joke, Gwaine.”

Gwaine doubles over laughing, and Arthur reconsiders his stance on punching him. He gets up to loom, but that just makes Gawine laugh more.

“You’re not serious, right?” Gwaine finally wheezes out.

“Why wouldn’t I be-”

“Oh my God,” Gwaine finally gets it under control to form a whole sentence, “Dude. Why would I be an ass about Merlin being gay?? He’s one of my best friends and encouraged me to get off my ass so me and Percy would finally get together.”

Arthur stares, “What.”

“Holy shit, Arthur, Percival and I have been dating for 3 months. Did you actually miss that fact?”

Arthur glances over at where Percival is pulling on his tank that says “Can’t Regulate These Guns” with arrows pointing at his arms, before giving Leon a noogie.

“BABE!” Gwaine calls over to them, “Babe, tell Arthur we’re like, massively in love!”

Percival and Leon both look over, and Percival flexes before blowing Gwaine a kiss.

“What,” Arthur repeats, wondering how he completely missed this. Thinking back on it, they have both been ignoring his texts at the same time a lot. He’s not usually this dumb, is he? Morgana would say he is, but she can’t be trusted.

Gwaine punches him in the arm, “Wow you’re like, the shittiest mate in the world. I’ve changed my mind, Merlin deserves better than you.”

By now Leon and Percival have joined them, and Percival goes in for a headlock but Arthur dodges out of the way. He glances over at Leon for support, but he just shrugs before saying, “Give him a break, you two. You only went public about it right after Merlin left and Arthur realized he was in love with him.”

Arthur stares at him in shock, and will later swear up and down that the only reason he sounds so strangled is because Percival literally has an arm around his neck and is digging into his hair with his other knuckles, “WHAT!”

Gwaine distracts Percival, by going in for a kiss, which is gross, but Arthur doesn’t have to be grateful for long because after an obnoxious smooching noise he turns to Leon, “Nah, bro, he’s still in denial about that.”

Arthur wonders if he’s ever going to say anything besides, “WHAT,” ever again.

Gwaine just shrugs. “Later, dude. I’m gonna to make out with my boyfriend, since some of us aren’t idiots.”

Leon just laughs and avoids Arthur’s question as he swings an arm around him and leads him away from where Gwaine and Percival have indeed begun making out.

* * *

Since Merlin is getting in on a Sunday morning, and Arthur has access to a car, he goes to pick him up the train station. He’s glancing at his watch to double check he arrived on time when he hears his name shouted, and looks up to find Merlin dashing at him, his luggage presumably abandoned.

The joy of seeing Merlin again overwhelms such practical concerns, and Arthur almost reaches out to hug him, before remembering they don’t do that. Merlin seems to realize that fact at a similar moment, drawing up short in front of him with a goofy grin on his face, “Hi!”

“Merlin!” Arthur smiles back, incapable of doing anything else, “I see you survived the wilds of France, then, even if your phone didn’t!”

Merlin just rolls his eyes, even as his grin stays in place, “I might’ve been in the countryside but it’s not like I was ever in _danger_ ,” he stops and frowns, “Though I suppose there was that moment with the sheep…”

“The sheep?” Arthur takes his bait.

“ _Sheep_?” a french accented voice exclaims, accompanied by a very handsome man, who appears to be carrying Merlin’s baggage, “Our old foe! Where?”

Merlin laughs, and loops an arm around the other man, his eyes crinkling as he looks over at him, “Don’t be silly, I was simply boasting of our victory to Arthur. Arthur,” he smiles over at his best friend, who’s heart is doing a rather interesting impersonation of a battering ram, “I’d like you to meet Lancelot, my fiancé.”

* * *

Arthur drives over to Morgana’s flat immediately after the worst brunch of his life, lets himself in the door, and lies facedown on her couch.

She walks out of her bathroom a few minutes later, and he’s surprised she isn’t holding a knife to his throat when she asks him, “And who invited you in?”

“You gave me a key,” he replies.

“That’s for emergencies,” Morgana retorts, no less venomous, “and anyway I thought Merlin was finally back so I’d be rid of you.”

“I’m in love with him.”

“Oh.” she pauses for a second, toweling her hair off one more time before sitting next to him, “Well, okay, so you finally realized.”

“I’m in love with him,” Arthur repeats, shocked at how easy it is to say those words despite how long he’d denied them, “and he just asked me to be the best man at his wedding in a couple of months.”

“..........Well shit.”


	2. His Father's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur helps plan Merlin's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would've taken much longer without the help of dj, who generously did some beta-ing and helped direct my urges to edit. It also would've taken much longer without the fact that I promised to get it done for toomuchsky- this one's for you, I'm so proud of all you achieved!!!!
> 
> Also I wanted to throw Brexit in as an excuse and was running out of time to do that. It should be noted that I know nothing about anything, specifically European immigration, weddings, sports, or ice sculptures. I do, however, know how to derive joy from writing Arthur being sad, so here we are! I hope you enjoy it. I cannot tell you how blown away I am by everyone who has read, commented, kudosed, bookmarked, subscribed, etc. To all of you who are here with me: Welcome. Thanks for coming along on this journey!

Arthur puts on his best smile, his best suit, and his best friend mode to go meet with the rest of Merlin’s wedding party. It’s not like he doesn’t know most of Merlin’s friends already. Actually, maybe the issue was that most of Merlin’s friends know _him_ already. Because odds were high that…

Yep, there was Will, leading a line of people towards Arthur, “You’re late.”

“Charming as always, Will,” Arthur replies, gritting his teeth through the knowledge that Will and Merlin probably swore to be one another’s best man when they were wee six year olds, and that’s why he’s receiving a whole new level of ire. Or possibly not, Will does seem to just hate him.

“Arthur!” Gwen smiles at him, “we’re so glad you’re here. Can you believe it?? Merlin getting married?!”

Merlin, who had also grinned when Arthur walked up, now frowns, “Well thanks, Gwen.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she gives him a squeeze, while Arthur hopes this means his slight tardiness ( _two minutes, Will!_ ) has been forgotten, “I just thought you’d be, well, pining after a straight boy for your entire life.”

Before Arthur can follow up on that _very_ interesting statement, Will clears his throat, “Can we start looking at napkins now, or whatever it is we’re here for? Merlin, mate, you know it’s only my love for you that has me here in this shopping center, but I’d still like to minimize my time in this bourgeois hell.” He shoots Arthur a glare, as though he is somehow responsible for every sin of capitalism. The third… groomsmaid? Shit, Arthur is going to have to ask Morgana if there’s an appropriate gender neutral term, Freya, nods at this, so Merlin takes her arm with a smile, and begins leading them all into the store where they are supposed to pick out _color schemes_ and _placecards_ of all things. Freya has never talked to Arthur, which still makes her friendlier than Will, though he once again makes a note to himself to ask Merlin why, to try and prevent the wedding from being even _more_ unbearable. As far as he knows, he’s never done anything terrible around her, but she and Merlin have been friends since uni, which means she probably knows him from then as well, and, well…

He turns his smile on Gwen, “So, are you thinking this wedding should have more of a warm color scheme, or a cool one?”

She obligingly laughs, and he remembers why his best friend and sister both love her so much, “Neither? I’m pretty sure that Merlin is thinking purples, since it’ll be at Lance’s family’s vineyard.” Arthur holds in a grimace at the nickname. If Gwen already likes him… well, no, Gwen likes most everyone, it doesn’t tell him much of anything.

“Paired with champagne decorations, perhaps?” Arthur’s not sure his joking tone lands, because, _come on_ , a vineyard in France?

“Ooh!” Gwen claps her hands, “That’s brilliant, Arthur! Merlin! Merlin I think we’ve got your color scheme!”

Merlin turns around and furrows his brow, “Gwen, why are you consulting with _Arthur_ on the color scheme, he’s just going to suggest red and gold and an excess of feathers.”

“Hey, that was one time!”

Gwen just ignores them and laughs, “No, it’s going to be champagne and nice deep purple!”

“Oh!” Merlin breaks into a grin, “That’ll be really nice, actually!”

“That’s why I suggested it,” Gwen rolls her eyes and goes to link arms with him, leaving Arthur alone following everyone to the stationary area. He has an odd sense that, as best man, he’s supposed to be leading the charge, but the only thing not going well here is, well, him. He forces his grin to be wider, and vows to not let any of Will’s jibes or Freya’s flinches get to him.

When a sales attendant comes over to ask if they need anything, he faithfully repeats Gwen’s color scheme, and she beams, “Oh, that’ll look lovely, shall we do the invitations on a cream paper, with royal purple ink and a champagne seal?”

Arthur looks over at the rest of the wedding party. Will looks grumpy, but that’s probably just a feature of their surroundings. Gwen is clapping her hands, and Freya looks tentatively excited. Merlin… Merlin is biting his lip, the way he always does when he wants something but isn’t sure if he can manage to get it.

“Yes,” Arthur says, “That sounds perfect.”

The sales attendant claps her hands, “Great! Now we get to pick a font and border!”

Arthur groans internally, but Merlin has many opinions about what lettering looks best, and Freya picks out the perfect edging, a strawberry vine. It’s not until everyone is distracted by what seal to put in the wax that Arthur manages to pull Merlin aside.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he whispers.

Merlin shrugs, “Nothing.”

Arthur bumps his shoulder, “None of that. I’m supposed to be your best man, and I figure I’m a pretty shoddy man if I can’t figure out what’s wrong with the stationary. Did you really want a more gothic font?”

“It’s not that,” Merlin bites his lip again, “I just hate how expensive this is all going to be. But Lance’s family is really invested in it being a big deal, and...”

“Hey,” Arthur stills him, “You’ve bored me to death with talk of paper and ink at plenty of our brunches, thanks to your preservation work. You deserve to have some of the nicest stuff.”

Merlin smiles awkwardly, but Arthur takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he’d told Morgana that Merlin’s happiness was the most important thing, and continues before Merlin can brush this off.

“You deserve this. If being Uther’s son has taught me anything, it’s… Well, it’s that you don’t need emotional vulnerability to get by in this world,” Merlin huffs a laugh and Arthur counts that as a win, “But still. An extravagant wedding can be fun. From what I know of Lancelot, he can afford this. If not, well, it’s not like my fortune is doing a whole lot else. Your wedding present can easily be a bunch of stationary, if it will make you happy.” Merlin stops chewing on his lip, finally, and Arthur is as relieved by the fact that means he’s less stressed as he is by the fact that _he’ll_ be less distracted by that.

“Okay,” Merlin gives Arthur his first real smile of the hour, “I’ll talk to Lancelot again about our budget, but you’re right. I want this wedding to be nice,” his smile turns a little softer and he looks away, “I’m really happy, you know?”

“I know,” Arthur manages to choke out, before his heart hurts too much. Emotional vulnerability is overrated anyway, “I’m happy for you.”

* * *

They manage to get through both place cards and invitations before Will’s snark becomes too much and Merlin suggests they all break for lunch. They make plans to meet back up in an hour to figure out suits and dresses, and Arthur makes his escape to phone Morgana.

She is, of course, supremely unhelpful and instead just laughs at him for 10 minutes.

The afternoon goes much faster, regardless, as Gwen and Freya go off to pick dresses, and he and Will just have to pick out matching pocket squares and ties. Will keeps throwing barbs his way about how he’s spent the past decade planning an epic bachelor party. Luckily, Arthur already knows his suit measurements, so he’s able to escape fairly quickly and go help with the decision of what dresses Gwen and Freya should wear. Recent epiphanies notwithstanding, he feels rather qualified to help, especially given all the knowledge Morgana has drilled into him, and he even manages to make Freya smile. The day is gotten through without many mishaps, but Arthur still feels an undeniable relief when Merlin confirms that flowers and cake will be selected in France, without the participation of _his_ entire wedding party.

* * *

Arthur flubs so many goals that Leon calls a halt to the game. Arthur tries to protest, but Gwaine waves him off.

“Princess,” Gwaine smirks, “What’s got you so distracted?”

Arthur swats at him, but Percival intercedes, of course, and so Arthur sighs and flops down onto the grass, “Being Merlin’s best man is more exhausting than I thought.”

Even with his face in his hands, he can feel his mates all giving each other _glances_. Leon is the one who finally speaks. “No,” he deadpans, “Helping to plan the wedding between the love of your life and someone else isn’t fun?”

Arthur groans, “He’s not the _love of my life_ , you’re being dramatic. I’ll get over it. I don’t want to miss an important event in his life because of my own shit.”

Percival coughs, “Oh. I figured you were doing this to try and get closer to Merlin while also getting the dirt on Lancelot.”

“What?” Arthur stares at him, “No!” then again, now that he has the idea… _No_. He can’t do that to Merlin.

“Uh huh,” Gwaine rolls his eyes, “Remind me again why you aren’t just telling Merlin how you feel and letting him make an informed choice?”

“Because I don’t want to add conflict to his life,” Arthur pronounces at the same time that Leon states, “Because he’s a coward.”

Arthur glares at his supposed mate, “Can we get back to playing footy now, instead of gossiping about my life?”

Gwaine, as always, is the one to reply, “Sure. But we’re invited to the wedding, right?”

“Why would I know that?”

“Well find out. You know I want front row seats to you ruining your own life,” Gwaine gets up and runs off, forcing Arthur to chase him in order to give that the response it deserves.

Unfortunately, Percival keeps Arthur from tackling Gwaine, _and_ he loses the match.

* * *

“Morgana,” Arthur announces, as soon as she has opened the door (he doesn’t want to test her by using his key again so soon), “I need you to help me throw the best bachelor party ever.” He refuses to admit Will got to him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need to prove him wrong.

Morgana stares at him pointedly for a few seconds before sheathing her knife, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Arthur scrunches his brow at her.

“Yes, is that all?” Morgana waits until Arthur hesitantly nods, “Good. Leave, now.”

Arthur blinks at her closed door, before deciding to count that as a victory. He passes Morgause in the hall on his way to the elevator, and much as she scares him, decides to give her a heads up, “Morgana doesn’t seem to be in the mood for visitors.”

Morgause just smirks, and Arthur shrugs. It’s her funeral, he guesses. Then again, as he turns to get in the elevator, Morgana ushers Morgause into her apartment. Weird, that.

* * *

When Sunday rolls around, Arthur is relieved that Merlin shows up to brunch alone. Last week had been horrible, Merlin and Lancelot smiling dopily at each other, and then Merlin had full on _giggled_ when he mentioned that they both had Arthurian names, and wasn’t that so _romantic_?

Neither of them had seemed to notice him gag, because they then moved on to explain how Merlin had gotten stuck in a herd of sheep, swept along as they trotted through his path to work, and Lancelot had noticed his peril and rescued him. Usually, Arthur would be the first one to laugh at Merlin’s misadventure, but last week he had just felt sick about it. What if Merlin had gotten seriously injured, trampled by livestock? He hates that he feels grateful to Lancelot, even as he thinks that it should’ve been _him_ to rescue Merlin.

Lancelot did eventually seem to notice Arthur’s discomfort, or perhaps he was just naturally polite, as he started asking what Arthur had been up to, and what he did for a living. Merlin obviously _has_ been spending too much time with Gwaine, because he gave _his_ summary of events (“Arthur stuck a plastic toy sword in a coffee cup one time, and then decided to patent it”) instead of _Arthur’s_ (“I invented a technology that prevents both coffee and heat from escaping cups, and now earn 5 cents for every one used”). Arthur doesn’t usually mind Merlin speaking for him, he does the same to him just as often, but with Lancelot there it rubbed him the wrong way.

But this week it’s just him and Merlin, he reminds himself, as the man in question approaches the table with a cup of tea. His smile comes more naturally than expected, he’s grateful to be alone with his best friend after this week- after these past few months, to be honest.

“Arthur!” Merlin grins back at him as he sets down his mug, “I really do want to thank you for all your help with the wedding, you know. After all of your father’s, I’m aware they aren’t your favorite events.”

Arthur feels his face grimace, but he clears it, “Well, you’re not my father.” God, imagine how awkward that would be. He barrels on before that thought can sink in any further, the question he’s been wondering all week blurting out of his mouth, “Why are you getting married so soon anyway? I mean,” Merlin looks uncomfortable, and he hates that he put that look on his face, “I just mean that you’ve never really discussed marriage before, and here you are, getting married to someone you’ve known a couple of months.” He laughs as naturally as he can, but suspects it’s not very convincing.

Merlin shoves a biscuit in his mouth before fiddling with his ring, and then sighing, “I mean," he breaks another piece off his biscuit and drops it onto his plate before continuing, "I do love him,” he sustains eye contact with Arthur for longer than Arthur would prefer, before swallowing and continuing, “But yes, we are moving a little fast. It’s just, his grandma is dying and she really wants to see him get married, and… Do you promise to keep this a secret?”

“Of course,” Arthur offers his pinky, which makes Merlin laugh again. Arthur wonders what it could be – is there dirt on _Lance_ after all?

“I got a job offer from the museum in France.”

“What!?” Arthur did not expect that, “They recognized your talent then? That’s good, right?”

Merlin smiles and nods, “It’s a really good opportunity for me, but what with the uncertainty over Brexit, they’re not sure about getting me a work visa by the time they need me to start, and, well… The timing may be fast, but it works for both of us, and we really do love each other, and it just seemed a bit like fate, so I figured why not, right?” His grin turns uncertain, making something in Arthur’s chest twist, his lungs suddenly feeling low on oxygen.

“Of course,” Arthur gives him his most supportive smile, and reaches across the table to squeeze Merlin’s hand. He can freak out about how Merlin is apparently _moving to France_ at another time. He’s an idiot to not have realized as much already, and Merlin’s got enough on his plate, “Now. Tell me more about this job offer.”

Arthur’s chest tightens even more as Merlin’s entire face lights up, “Arthur, you wouldn’t _believe_ the stuff they’ve got hidden away over there, and they don’t have anyone to touch it up and make it suitable for public viewing! But it’s incredible,” Arthur smiles and nods at all the right places, but there’s a buzzing in his head that makes it difficult to focus. Bugger it all, if he gets sick on top of everything else… No, he’s fine. He takes another sip of his tea, and tries to focus on what Merlin is telling him.

* * *

Lancelot gets a call from home about his grandmother, so Arthur goes with Merlin to meet the man who will officiate the ceremony. Arthur has heard of Gaius before, Merlin had invited him one year to a Beltane festival back in Ealdor, but Arthur had begged off as having another engagement. Still, he knows the vague details of the man, that he was a mentor figure to Merlin in his teenage years, his eyebrow is terrifying, and he apparently performed Merlin’s parents handfasting.

Despite years of warning, Arthur was still not prepared for the eyebrow that Gaius greets them with.

“Merlin,” the elderly gentleman greets them, “it has been far too long. I hear you come to ask a favor?”

Merlin laughs and goes to embrace the man, “Gaius, we spoke on the phone last week. You already agreed to fly to France and officiate the wedding!”

“Of course,” Gaius chuckles, “And who have you brought to meet me?”

“Oh!” Merlin disentangles himself from Gaius, and Arthur holds back a laugh at his sprawling limbs, “Gaius, this is Arthur.”

“A pleasure,” Gaius shakes Arthur’s hand firmly, “It’s good to finally meet you. Why don’t you two come in for a cuppa and discuss what you want for the ceremony?”

The tea smells terribly herbal, but Merlin doesn’t do more than wrinkle his nose at it, which he does at most things, so Arthur drinks it without comment.

“Now,” Gaius says, “I have my standard script that I like to use for ceremonies. Merlin, you’ve heard it before, but I’ll send you a copy so that you two can look it over and make any modifications that you find necessary. Are there any particular themes you want to highlight before we move on to discussing your vows?”

“Um,” Merlin twists his tea mug around, before glancing at Arthur for help. Arthur barely refrains from rolling his eyes, despite some of his recent dreams, this isn’t _his_ wedding. Merlin looks back at Gaius and gives him an awkward grin, “You’ve done this more times than me, Gaius, I trust your judgement.”

Arthur does roll his eyes now, and elbows Merlin to hiss at him, “What about your fate thing?”

“What was that?” Gaius glances back and forth between the two of them, and Arthur hurriedly resituates himself to be sitting upright and puts on the grin he used to give teachers who caught him passing notes.

“Ah,” Merlin manages to extract himself from a few of the cushions that have been devouring him, “Arthur was just reminding me that, well. I know I sprung this wedding on all of you rather quickly, but it just feels fated, and maybe you could mention something about that in the ceremony?”

Gaius smiles at the two of them from besides his glasses, “Yes, I could certainly work something like that in,” he glances back and forth, “Life does have a funny way of throwing people together in unexpected ways, doesn’t it?”

Merlin clears his throat, “Quite.”

“Right then,” Gaius settles his own mug down, “Now, the vows. As happy as I am to talk about the importance of love and partnership, my boy, I find the most touching part of ceremonies to be when the participants themselves discuss what it is that makes their marriage so special, as you know far more about it than I. Have you thought about what it is you would like to say?”

Merlin fidgets with his ring, as well as biting his lip, and Arthur just wants to grab him and hold him still. He refrains himself, however, and tries to mimic Gaius patiently waiting for him to speak, “I figured I would talk a little about my parents,” Merlin starts, looking over at Gaius hesitantly, who nods proudly at him to continue, “and how even though my father died when I was young their love showed me how to be a more caring person in the world,” Arthur’s heart hurts as he also smiles at Merlin and nods for him to continue. He is not tearing up, he refuses, and he can’t pay attention to that anyway because Merlin is saying, “And I just feel so blessed to have found someone who can share that with me, and be my partner in life.”

“Right,” Gaius clears his throat, and wipes at his eyes. Arthur feels better about his own teariness, “That sounds lovely, Merlin. Arthur?”

“What?” Arthur blinks back at Gaius, “Yes, that sounds very… very good.”

Gaius laughs, “I was wondering what you were planning to say at the ceremony.”

Arthur exchanges a stricken look with Merlin, “Is the Best Man supposed to speak? I don’t really know Lancelot that well-”

“Oh!” Gaius glances between them again, “Of course. Lancelot! Merlin,” he turns to where Merlin seems to be choking on his tea, “I would suggest you write up some notes on your vows and rehearse it ahead of the ceremony.”

Merlin recovers from his fit enough to shoot Gaius a suspicious glance, “Are you just suggesting that because-”

“I suggest it to everyone I officiate for,” Gaius interrupts him, “In fact, I was about to say that Lancelot is welcome to send me any drafts he has as well, and I will try to incorporate pieces from both of them into the ceremony.”

“Right,” Merlin nods back at him, “Did he not already email you to arrange travel plans? I’ll have to remind him to get on that.”

“Thank you,” Gaius smiles a little, “Now if I’m not mistaken, your train leaves very soon, and Hunith wouldn’t forgive me if I kept you too late to stop by her place as well.”

“Of course,” Merlin gives Gaius one last hug, before leading Arthur out of the most uncomfortable sitting room he’s been in since the last Pendragon family reunion.

Gaius gives him another handshake goodbye, after Arthur freezes at the arm looking suspiciously headed towards a hug, and smiles at him with a gentler version of the eyebrow, “It was good to finally meet you Arthur, and put a face to the name.”

“You as well, sir,” Arthur manages to reply, over the pounding question in his head of what he’s even doing here, besides making his stomach and chest ache.

He is answered, of course, by Merlin turning to grin at him as he leads him to where his mother presumably lives, “Thank you for coming, you prat,” he laughs at Arthur’s expression, “No, I do mean it though. I’m glad I wasn’t alone for that.”

“Of course,” Arthur replies, “I’ve faced down far worse for you, and would do so again.”

In fact, Arthur suspects that this may have just been a warm-up to the horror that will be watching Merlin get married to someone else.

* * *

Arthur hates that he got talked into this. Despite Gwaine’s best attempts to turn them into gossip sessions, Thursday evening football matches are a welcome distraction from the romantic drama the rest of his life has become. But Elyan was in town, and when Arthur jokingly offered that Merlin could even out their numbers, Merlin instead suggested that Lancelot could join them.

“He’s really very athletic,” Merlin had said, while Arthur tried to turn off his visual imagination, “and I think he’d really enjoy hanging out with you and getting to know you better.”

There was no way Arthur could decline without coming off as a massive wanker, so here he is, introducing Lancelot to his friend group, “That’s Leon, Percival, Gwen’s brother Elyan,” they give each other nods, and Arthur briefly wonders if Gwen already introduced them, “and Gwaine, who is best ignored.”

Lancelot just laughs, as though Gwaine isn’t smirking at him, and reaches his hand out to shake, “It’s good to meet you all. Merlin has informed me you are all honorable men.”

Right then, Arthur clears his throats, “Well, we usually just scrimmage, so…”

Leon claps his hands together, “Lance- do you mind if I call you Lance?” He barely waits for a nod before continuing, “You can be on me and Arthur's team. We’ll subject Elyan to the Perwaine grossfest.”

“Oy!” Elyan exclaims, but he’s laughing, and Arthur is simultaneously relieved that this situation is no longer under his control, and bothered by it.

“Very well,” Lancelot smiles at everyone, “Are there any rules I should know about?”

Leon continues to explain things to him as Arthur instead pulls an exercise shirt over his head, breathing in the darkness and wishing this didn’t happen.

Lancelot ends up being better than Arthur could’ve ever expected, knowing Arthur’s next move almost before Arthur does. They manage to win, despite Gwaine stealing the ball by informing Arthur that he too would “choose the handsome Lance over you, pouting princess,” but Arthur can't even feel pleased to have beat him.

* * *

Morgana has truly outdone herself. As Arthur looks around the room, he is filled with nothing but pride for his sister, not that he would ever tell her that. He has spent the past month and a half working out the details of this with her, and the last two nights forcing his friends to make gift baskets with him for all the guests to take home, but despite all of his work, it would be nothing without her contacts and experience.

It looks as good as any event Uther has ever thrown, with a guest list of pretty much everyone who Arthur thinks Merlin might want to say goodbye to. Or remind him of why he shouldn’t move to a different country, either way is fine by him. People are mingling about the room, snacking on canapes and sipping from champagne glasses, and Arthur let’s the success of it all wash over him. The party has been going on for an hour, and far too many people from university have accosted him to talk about their lives, but he knows Merlin is around somewhere, probably by the snacks, and so he finally decides to go find him.

He passes Morgana on his way to a refreshment area, and they both pause to admire how the light twinkles off of the ice statue of Merlin in the middle of the room.

“Looking good,” he informs his sister.

She smiles benignly back at him, “Well, you are biased in his favor. I still think it’s a little tacky, but…”

“I was trying to give you a compliment!” Arthur protests.

Morgana just pats his cheek, “Try harder.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but spots Merlin over by a chocolate fountain, who catches his eye back and fidgets before kissing his _fiancé_ and shooing him off at Arthur’s approach. Lancelot nods at Arthur before leaving, and Arthur waves back.

“Merlin!” Arthur grins at him, “How are you enjoying your bachelor party? I made everyone pitch in for it!”

Merlin blinks at him for a few moments, “Right, thank you.”

Arthur pops a freshly chocolate covered cheese sphere in his mouth before peering closer at Merlin, “What’s wrong? Did Lancelot do something?”

“What?” Merlin frowns at him and then tugs at his tie, “No, of course not. Look, can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

“Of course,” Arthur trails after him to a balcony, where Merlin snaps the door behind them, “What’s going on?”

Merlin frowns and gestures at the party behind him, “What is all this? Is it some kind of prank?”

“What?” Arthur stares back at the party and then back at Merlin, “Of course not! How would that even work?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin explodes outward, and Arthur fights the urge to duck a swinging limb, “But really, Arthur? An ice sculpture of me? What could possibly make you think that’s the kind of thing I would want at my bachelor party?”

“I-” Arthur starts, but Merlin isn’t done.

“Besides which, why is it a formal event in the first place? It’s bad enough I have to wear a suit to the wedding, but I had to get dressed up for this as well? To come to a hotel I’ve never been to before and be surrounded by people I’ve talked to maybe once in my life? What were you thinking?”

“I,” Merlin has paused for breath, so Arthur is able to form a whole sentence, quieter than usual, “I thought you deserved to have a nice party.”

Merlin rubs his forehead, biting at his lip for a pained moment that seems to extend forever, before sighing, “Arthur, can you even imagine any circumstance where I would ever be at a party like this, unless you had dragged me to it?”

Arthur swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, “You seemed to be enjoying the chocolate fountain?”

“Arthur,” Merlin’s shoulders droop, “You could’ve just set up a chocolate fountain in my living room. Hell, you could’ve just taken me to the pub with all our friends,” he tries to meet Arthur’s eye, but Arthur is too stricken to allow it, “I know you put a lot of work into this, perhaps the most work you've ever put into anything in your life, and I just… I just want to understand why.”

The silence is unbearable, and a part of Arthur is dying to scream out that it’s because he loves Merlin, and he can’t imagine a Merlin that’s not by his side, and the whole wedding is going to be like this anyway so why is Merlin complaining about this part, and… None of his words make it past the lump in his throat, though it’s as hard to hold them back as it is to keep his eyes from spilling over.

“Okay,” Merlin reaches out to touch Arthur’s shoulder, before dropping his hand and backing towards the door, “I hope you enjoy your party. I’m. Mum wants to be a bigger part of planning the wedding, so I think when Lance returns to France tomorrow we’ll join him and help out with the flowers and such. I’ll see you there, right?”

Arthur barely manages to nod before Merlin is slipping back into the door, and he’s quickly lost in the crowd. Arthur stumbles back against the railing, and loosens his tie. He doesn’t know how long he spends out there in the cold, having to remind himself to breathe in, and out, and in, and out, and in…

A giggling couple comes out at one point, presumably to… Arthur doesn’t know, they apologize upon seeing him and he doesn’t even blink before they’re back in the glittering room. An eternity seems to pass, before the noises finally quiet down as people leave, he thinks he hears exclamations of joy over the gift baskets, and that should make Leon and Gwaine happy after all their grousing. Eventually, Morgana slips out onto the balcony with him.

“I made them save the ice sculpture for you to take home,” she informs him, before lighting a cigarette. He’d thought she’d sworn off smoking again, but he barely has the energy to let out a hoarse chuckle, let alone ask her about it.

She lets him sit in silence again for a bit, and he’s grateful for it. Eventually he speaks, “Merlin’s going back to France tomorrow.”

It’s not what he’d meant to say at all, but the knowledge has been rattling around in his head, and he supposes it needed some way out. _It’s your fault_ , his brain whispers at him. _Merlin is leaving, and it’s all your fault_.

“Hmm,” Morgana comes up beside him and looks out at the city, “After we threw him such a nice party?” She chuckles, and he wonders how much she’s had to drink tonight, “It was worthy of any Pendragon, you know.”

“I think that might’ve been the problem,” he replies, hollowly.

“Ah,” she stubs out her cigarette, “Arthur.” She finally turns to face him, “What is going on with you? I have never, in our lives, known you to not chase down what you want.”

Arthur tries to duck his head, but she grabs his chin and forces him to look back at her.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies.

“Okay,” she smiles at him, gently, her lipstick mussed from where her cigarette was.

“Okay?” He blinks in shock. Morgana is also not known for letting things go.

“Okay,” she repeats, “Do you want me to stay and keep you company, or do you want to mope by yourself?”

“Stay.” he finds himself saying, “Please.”

She just smiles again and lights another cigarette. She usually only smokes when she’s feeling particularly angsty, and he wonders if he should ask how she’s doing as well, but instead what comes out is, “I was so happy when Dad brought you home, you know?”

“Yeah?” She laughs a little, “I don’t remember that.”

“It was. It was lonely with just the two of us,” she just hums in reply, so he continues, “I wanted someone to play with. I would’ve preferred you to lose our sword fights more often than you did, but it was still better with you there.”

She shoots him a glance, “Even our teenage years?”

His chuckle comes out wet, “Even our teenage years, in a funny way.”

He doesn’t think about them very often, and she never brings them up. Then again, Arthur rarely brings up his childhood. But getting a sibling was the first time his home had felt like a _home_ and his family like a _family_. He suddenly has a memory of being eight, and vowing to adopt lots of children when he grew up, so that they could all have as much fun as they did. Uther had done it, he figured, so he was allowed to as well.

The lump in his throat is back.

“You know,” Morgana must have pulled her eerie trick of reading his mind again, because she says, “Just because I can’t give birth, doesn’t mean you’re obligated to carry on the Pendragon line by marrying an eligible woman.”

“What?” Arthur splutters out, “Why are you even…” he trails off as he thinks about it more. Despite Uther’s many pointed comments about grandchildren whenever they talk, he prefers not to think about it.

Morgana just snorts, and she must really be drunk to be bringing any of this up. That, or he’s truly a pathetic sight right now. He prefers to think she’s drunk, “Uther forced me to freeze some of my _genetic material_ in between me discovering he impregnated my mother and him agreeing to help pay for my transition. I hope to God you’re not being an idiot about this Merlin thing because of Uther’s brainwashing about carrying on the line, and you really just care more about Merlin’s happiness than your own, but just in case you are being asinine because of our father, well… He accepted me as I am, eventually, and he can accept you too. Stop being a grown man who cries on a balcony because he can’t get over his daddy’s expectations for him.”

“Hey!” Arthur calls out after her, offended, as she moves back into the party, probably to deal with some clean up.

She just tosses the lit cigarette back at him, forcing him to deal with that so that she doesn’t get any more arsony convictions, “I’ll have them deliver the ice sculpture to your kitchen. Figure out what you want to do before it melts all over your floor.”

Arthur just groans, and refuses to admit that after all of that, he does feel slightly better. _Slightly_.


End file.
